


In his grasp

by Wiegenlied



Series: drabbles and prompt fills [7]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Professor Tom, Slytherin Harry, Veritaserum
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2020-10-25 19:04:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20729234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wiegenlied/pseuds/Wiegenlied
Summary: Prompt: professor Tom, student HarryWhen Harry lands himself in the past, he does his best to keep a low profile- especially since here, Tom Riddle is a professor.Obviously, this only lasts until Harry has his first class with the man.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Im_A_Panda__Rawr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Im_A_Panda__Rawr/gifts), [JustTrashFam](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustTrashFam/gifts).

It had been three days before he was noticed.

His misery began, of course, at the start of this whole debacle. With a cursed artifact in Grimmauld Place, specifically- a stumble here, a misplaced vial of phoenix tears there, and somehow Harry had found himself in the year 1953. Thankfully, he had ended up crash landing directly into Dumbledore's office instead of a more dangerous place (read: Knockturn Alley).

"The phoenix tears, my boy," Dumbledore explained. "They brought you back to another phoenix, Fawkes here, in this time period- the question is, why this year in particular?"

Harry had been thinking the same thing since the time he arrived.

For the first few days, things had gone well. Other than, well, three problems.

The first was the <strike>massive</strike> slight hitch of being sorted into Slytherin (thanks a lot, hat). Harry had resigned himself to keeping a low profile until he could figure out his next step. If a time turner isn't an option, does he need to use the same method that brought him to the past in the first place? Would he be able to find the same artifact in the past to return him to the future? If so, how could he get his hands on it? After all, he had no guarantee that the wards at Grimmauld would work on him now- 

So Harry, despite his mounting concerns, continued to attend his classes. He talked to his housemates, continued to do the homework assigned, and tried to push down the ache that came from seeing the telltale flash of Gryffindor-red in the halls.

His classes for the first few days consisted of Charms, Transfiguration, and Herbology. Harry managed to talk a housemate (Lestrange, could you believe it?) into sharing their notes with him beforehand, so he wasn't too confused during class. But it was Wednesday, with Potions and Defense back to back, that he was _really_ excited about. With the Prince's knowledge in mind, and his own passion for defensive spells, he knew that those classes were ones he could really enjoy being in, doing _well_ in. 

This is when his second issue arose- which was, of course, his Defense professor.

"Welcome to Defense Against the Dark Arts, Mr. Potter," Riddle said. What was happening? Wasn't Riddle refused the defense position?? Tom smiled, the picture of perfect courtesy and welcoming cheer. The resulting sigh from over half the class made Harry shiver in disgust. "I'm sure it will be a pleasure having you in this class." 

He had lasted twenty minutes before proving that statement, quite thoroughly, wrong. 

Needless to say, one failed spell later (which was, of course, _accidentally aimed at Riddle what are you even accusing me of Lestrange) _Riddle's focus had zeroed in on Harry.

His eyes glittered, his pleasant facade melting _just_ enough for the underlying anger to simmer across his gaze. "Detention, Potter," he said, voice soft and calm and cold. "With your head of house, this evening."

The third issue? Tom. F***ing. Riddle. Was his Head of House. 

He just couldn't catch a break, could he.

* * *

Two weeks later, Harry found himself serving detention with Riddle (surprise, surprise) once again.

There was a major difference this time, though. Harry may or may not have... let some important details slip in a heated exchange with the professor. Details that Harry, in this time period, had no feasible excuse of knowing. Which explained the Veritaserum that Riddle had given him, cleverly ingested into his system through his water goblet at dinner. He should have known something was up when Riddle had pulled him away from the table, citing important "Defense matters" for his urgency. 

The man _(could he be called such a thing?)_ stepped closer, eyes slitted, glinting, the very picture of devilish poise. Harry fought within his mind, the sweat beading on his brow the only sign of his ongoing struggle.

"Such... anger," the man murmured, circling Harry's chair. He took a moment to check Harry's pulse- his long, pale, _warm_ fingers touching Harry's wrist softly. "So much hatred in your eyes. Now what has made you turn those at me?" he wondered aloud. Harry continued to look straight ahead, silent, unaffected despite the potion running through his veins.

Riddle finally stopped in front of him, meeting Harry's gaze, a spark of fury entering his frame as Harry successfully fought the influence of the Veritaserum. Harry braced himself for a blow, for a spell, _something _that would express Tom's rage. However, instead of cursing Harry or further dosing him as expected, the man... paused.

_And what will you do when the devil has sighted you?_

Thumb brushing his lower lip, Riddle tilted Harry's face up with a delicate hand, the slightest flick of a wand causing the hair above the cursed scar to lift.

Harry remained glassy eyed, but mouth still closed, spirit still spitting fire within.

Riddle looked on, transfixed.

"How curious," he said, "That you have a glamour on a seemingly unblemished spot."

Harry's heart leapt. No. No no _no._

Ridde grinned, all charm and snakelike calm, not a shred of previous rage in sight._"Let us remove that, shall we?"_


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's for all those who liked this AU! I apologize for not having much for it- I consider it to be one of the most difficult ones to write for, but here I am!! (>//<)

Harry studiously ignored the sharp prods to his side, jabbing a period onto his parchment with more force than necessary. His notes for Defence would be _perfect_ today, and he wasn't going to give anyone an excuse to put him in detention. Though if the increasingly persistent pokes were any sign, his desk mate was planning to make an excuse _for_ him.

Lestrange was being a prick as usual, nothing new about that. Harry took a slow, deep breath, trying to reign in his anger and how badly he wanted to snap at the boy to _stop it._ Harry couldn't get angry- he couldn't afford to, didn't want Lestrange to be the cause of yet another detention with the Professor, not when-

* * *

_"So many secrets," Riddle whispered, a chilling gleam in his eyes. "What's to stop me from taking them from you?"_

* * *

And then Lestrange, suddenly and violently, brought him out of his thoughts by _stabbing him with his quill._

"OW!" Harry yelped, slapping a hand to his sharply aching side. All thoughts of laying low and staying quiet immediately vanishing into thin air. Merlin, his side felt slightly wet- was he _bleeding?_ What in the name of-

"What the hell was _that_ for, Lestrange?" Harry growled.

The boy giggled, head laying down on his desk. The ink from his notes still hadn't dried, smearing his cheek in a deceptively disarming way. With a sigh, the child-like glee abruptly faded from his expression, leaving something blank in its place. Dark eyes were opened wide, alarmingly so as they gazed up at Harry. The placid, empty look was juxtaposed with the sudden manic grin on his face.

Harry shivered in unease. Keeping up with Lestrange's moods was... impossible, really.

_'I can see where Bellatrix gets it from. But wait- she married a Lestrange so- I guess the Lestranges are their own brand of crazy too.'_

"Professor Riddle is staring at you," Lestrange sang in an eery tune, bringing his quill up to the light. The hint of red at its tip seemed to fascinate him as he twirled it this way and that. Harry just hoped he didn't _lick_ it- he remembered what happened with Avery just yesterday. "Staring, always following, creeping-"

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this, kudos and comments are very much appreciated (*´︶`*)♡


End file.
